Fiction 100
by DecaniTrebleEight
Summary: The one hundred drabble challenge, featuring Alex/Gene, Chris/Shaz, Ray/multiple characters *winks* Ooh, I don't know, we'll see what happens. Come along for the ride :D
1. Beginnings

Disclaimer: I just mess around in the sandbox that other – smarter - people have built. I own nothing.

A/N: So I'm sitting here with four GCSEs left and a lot of spare time coming up to play around with, deciding to finally start the Fiction 100 challenge that I've wanted to do for a long time. Basically it's a set of one hundred prompts with the aim of producing one hundred drabbles. I say drabbles and yes, part of the challenge is to have the ability to say all you need to say in a hundred words but so many of my stories run away with me and take forms of their own so I'm going to stretch the rules, saying not that the _target_ is one hundred words but that the _minimum _is.

Anyway, let's get started. This should be fun :D

//

**001 – Beginnings**

//

Her head pounded and she blinked slowly, forcing herself to shift the fog in her mind.

Surely she was ill. A fever? Possibly.

It was more probable than her present situation, anyway; but did that make it more unlikely? Did the improbability of her coma conjuring up golden-maned, course-tongued men mean that in fact the probability of the Earth still being spherical and toast still tasting good with jam practically impossible?

She groaned. It hurt to think. Clever, sane, non-comatose Alex would've known the answer…

"Ah, Drakey; you're awakey."

She squinted up in the direction of the voice and saw her DCI's jawline swim above her, the mere effort making her woozy and more than a little nauseous. She shut her eyes tight. The foray into consciousness came with the realisation as senses managed to struggle back to her that he was carrying her up the stairs in Luigi's, most probably headed for her bedroom.

_AlexDrake+GeneHunt+Bedroom=?!_

At this she let out a hysterical shout of laughter, surprising even herself with the images her sewer-like mind conjured up at the equation. Her outburst apparently sounded more like a strangled sob however; something - her muddled brain quickly grappled with - to be fairly gratituous of in the circumstances.

"Don't cry Bolls," he scolded gruffly, "you just can't hold yer drink. The Gene Genie won't kick you off 'is team fer that, it's not the end of the world. Mind you, might warran' another bum stamp…" he trailed off distractedly, it all too clear what his mind was now occupied with. If she had been sober Alex would've rolled her eyes, raised her eyebrow and made a sarky, feministic comment. Intoxicated Alex did nothing of the sort. Her subconscious was taking advantage of her less than rational state and running away with her in frankly wild fashion.

_It's not the end of the world. _Well no, but it was definitely the beginning of something.

She grinned hopelessly.


	2. Interlude

//

**002 – Interlude**

//

The feet marched through, the door closed, the blinds came down and the world paused.

However much he liked to believe otherwise, this was no longer his office, it was _theirs._ Hunt and Drake. Manc Lion and Posh Tart.

Gene and Bollykecks.

Yes, that sounded about right.

It was a sanctuary, the place they could take an interlude from the crooked city they lived in and the friends – although appreciated – that were always a little too eager to share. It was also a place to lock horns and to work out their utter infuriation with one another.

Gene surveyed his DI over the rim of his whisky. It seemed it wasn't her time of the month for a change he mused, ever tactful. No, this was the eye of the storm, the too-short lull in which she took a step back and collected her thoughts before throwing herself into another relentless battle of wills with him.

_Collected her thoughts._ He studied her again, the diverted gaze, the hard-set mouth, the eyebrows that gently creased together.

Oh, no no no. She was thinking, her publicly educated brain whirring in its posh bird fashion and that was _always _dangerous.

"Guv-"

She was interrupted by a flurry of activity outside the door and a sharp knock.

"Come on Bolls, I'll hear your mumbo-jumbo at Luigi's later once I'm under the influence."

The door hesitated on its hinges in their wake. The interlude was over.


	3. Sixth Sense

A/N: Italics sans speech marks are Chris' thoughts. This is set in early series one canon.

//

**003 – Sixth Sense**

//

Gene strode out of his office, waving a sheaf of paper.

"Bolly, fire up the photocopier and go and stick a loada these posters around the neighbourhood."

_Classic Gene Hunt, _Chris thought._ I saw that coming. _He looked to the DI sitting across from him and smiled, waiting.

"_Gene,_" she stood, poking a warning finger at the air, "I am _not _a glorified typewriter and I will not bow down to the 'authority'" – adding airquotes for dramatic effect (_yes, she loves doing that,_ Chris observed) – "of an imaginary construct that my own comatose brain has conjured up."

"_Imaginary construct." Yup, that was very Alex Drake._

Gene turned to his left.

"Shazza, would you mind-"

"_Yes_ Gene, yes she would mind being treated like your own personal PA and yes she would quite like to get back to her own, proper, grown-up job now."

_Ah, yes. As always Drake had jumped heroically to the feminist cause and to Shaz, her fellow woman in this manly office. Oh, Shaz, Shazza… _Chris' train of thought wavered as he gazed at the WPC_. What I wouldn't give to pluck up the courage to ask her to Luigi's._

"Raymondo-"

"Don' even go there Guv," Ray frowned, taking a draft on his smoking cigarette.

_God I bloody hope I'm not blushing right now. _Chris rid his head of dirty thoughts.

"Christopher then," Gene said, striding over to stand before his desk and shoving the wad of paper in front of him.

"Guv?"

"Go and copy that lot and then you can go an' nick a couple 'o plonks and take 'em around Fenchurch East. The rest of us'll be at Luigi's when yer done."

Chris handed the photocopying job to a wandering PC when Gene was out of sight and sat back, nodding to himself.

_I saw that coming, I just knew he was going to ask me next._

Yes, he had seen it coming. For Chris had a sixth sense, an incredible gift that he had never shared with anyone.

DC Christopher Skelton could tell the future.

He swung his booted feet onto the desk and leaned back contentedly, his hands above his head and foresaw that when he walked into the bar a believable amount of time later everyone would be drunk.

God he was good.


	4. Broken

//

**004 – Broken**

//

_0800 hours, 6__th__ May 1982_

Alex sighed as she stared up at the calendar on the wall. In exactly fourteen years and thirty-two minutes her past self – _her future self? She wasn't sure how it worked – _would be giving birth to a tiny but healthy little girl called Molly. She couldn't comprehend the idea that she'd never see her daughter blow out those candles on her twelfth birthday or never get to shake her head fondly at her grandchildrens' lack of respect over the top of her knitting.

"_Right Alex, you're nine centimetres dilated, don't push just yet."_

"_Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me. I have. To bloody. PUSH!!"_

Alex spun round, grabbing her radio off the side board with such eager force as if her life depended on it. She held it close to her ear, praying the connection was still there.

"_Ten centimetres. Let's get ready to welcome your baby girl into the world. Now, on my count…"_

Suddenly her hearing was filled with the sounds of a newborn's cry.

"Molls…" she breathed.

The radio crackled as the transmission was cut and Alex sank to the floor, coming to realise that she was openly sobbing. She had thought she was fine but she really, really wasn't. She and Molly were two sides of the same coin and her daughter and Evan were the only family she had in the universe. They had each other in the twenty-first century but here in the foreign and often terrifying world of the early eighties Alex was so, so alone and hopelessly broken.

She did the only thing she could think to do; she got up and went to get changed for work.


	5. Fixed

A/N: A companion to 'Broken' :D

//

**005 – Fixed**

//

_2000 hours, 6__th__ May 1982_

Twelve hours later Alex was sat alone in a secluded corner of Luigi's downing her third glass of house red, having not really felt like joining the others at their usual spot under the mural. The job had always been a coping mechanism for her and it had worked its magic as always that day as a major attempted robbery had gone down requiring all of Alex's brain power. However as she sat there wallowing in her own self pity there wasn't anything to occupy her mind and it was working overtime to remind her of her depression.

She watched as he walked to stand at the bar, unusually chiefed with buying in the next round. She supposed he had lost a bet. She swilled the last few dregs of wine around the bottom of her glass and knocked it back, going to pour herself another measure. A hand stopped her.

"I think you've had enough, don't you Bolls?" The voice was surprisingly gentle.

"'Spose," she sighed in return. She looked up at him and he gazed right back, his piercing blue eyes scrutinising her glassy expression.

"Come on. I'll see you home."

//

_0800 hours, 7__th__ May 1982_

Alex groaned as the phone next to her bed rang shrilly, waking her from much-needed sleep.

"What?" she asked groggily, picking up the handset.

"No need to take that tone with me Bollyknickers. Down 'ere, now. We've got ourselves some scum to catch." She heard the dial tone before she'd had a chance to slam the phone down angrily. Rolling onto her back she draped an arm over her face, thinking back to the slightly hazy events of last night. She knew that Gene had brought her home and that he'd uncharacteristically listened to what he'd presumably thought of as drunken ramblings. She had told him the truth, she was sure of that much and then she'd passed out and woken up here. Despite the banging headache she could feel coming on she smiled to herself. Maybe she couldn't see Molly just now but there was every chance in the future. For the moment she may as well get on with whatever life she'd been landed with. Against her better judgement she found herself wondering whether it was actually such a bad thing, taking her growing – though somewhat dysfunctional – relationship with her superior officer into account. Maybe she could be fixed.


	6. Reality

A/N: Well the dreaded GCSEs are over so I'm now at the mercy of Fiction 100 – and _determined _to finish before September, too. Not entirely happy with this first entry after exams, I couldn't quite get it right but I'm sure they'll smooth out after this :D

//

**006 – Reality**

//

Ideally, Alex would've liked to have believed that she was a brilliant, loving, caring mother. Of course in theory she was. If she had still been with her daughter she would've taken her out for picnics in the park, she'd have let her go out with her friends, let her have the freedom every young child strove for as long as she called every once in a while to let her know where she was. There was no arguing with the fact that she loved her more than life itself – but that's all 2008 came to be in the end. It was _a _life, definitely, but… _her _life turned out to be something completely different from what she had imagined as a little girl. Eventually it came to be that her life waited for her in the form of a golden-maned gentle lion with a slight tendency for alcoholism.

No, Alex would've loved to have been able to prove that she was a good mum but it just so happened that that wasn't the course she was meant to have taken. It took her some time to come to terms with the fact that the only thing she had left of her daughter was the little sticky fingerprint on the back of her warrant card but after a while she found she'd unconsciously made peace with the thought. Everything melted into an uncertain shade of grey and she realised as her dreams became a crossroads that she had known the inevitability of the situation all along.

She may never have seen Molly Drake ever again after her twelfth birthday but she knew that a life with her daughter was only a fanciful idea. The reality of her existence sat before her now, the cat tamed and domesticated as he stretched on their sofa and settled back with a large whisky, patting the cushion next to him in invitation.


	7. If

//

**007 – If**

//

It was Molly's twenty-first birthday, the year 2017.

_What if I just knocked on her door, asked to borrow some eggs?_

Alex knew she was old enough now to be able to get away with the cake-making excuse; the good old "oh sorry, I've run out of flour, would you mind…?" But no. Probably not. She'd feel guilty for wasting eggs no doubt.

_What if I stole in and just had a look around whilst she was out, had a quick recce of the new family photos?_

Well she could pull it off definitely, having had much experience in the somewhat bizarre idea of eighties policing but the guilt would plague her. She had no place to be in her daughter's house uninvited and frankly she would become just another common criminal. No, that one wasn't even an option.

_What if I sat on the wall opposite and just watched her from a distance, satisfying my needs to see her once more but not having to alert her to my existence?_

Pah. Stalker, much?

_What if I just marched up to her front door and announced myself as her mother?_

And there it was, the clincher, the worst idea of the lot. It was so awful that a hysterical laugh threatened to explode from her before Alex checked herself, realising that she was standing in the middle of a respectful suburban street. It was the sort of place where neighbours would nod to each other politely in the morning over their neat little garden hedges, stopping a moment to engage in light conversation as they brought the milk in and so definitely not the place to reveal to the world that you were a time-travelling headcase.

It was to Alex's intense surprise therefore that she found herself standing next to one of these neat little hedges, knocking on the door that an empty milk bottle sat beside, awaiting its collection the following day. Her composure drained from her, face pale as she recognised that the faint doorbell now ringing inside the house was down to the shaking finger she now had placed over the button.

The door opened quickly, causing Alex to jump as the whirlwind behind it glared at her, clearly annoyed at the disturbance and persistent noise. She had grown, Alex noted irrationally, since she had last seen her. In fact she'd grown into a rather beautiful young woman – not that she was biased, of course. As their eyes met though, the excuse ready to spill from her lips she saw something that confused her deeply. There was no question or puzzle or _if…_

"Mum," she breathed and engulfed her in a hug that erased the last thirty-six years and left them just as mother and daughter, how it should have been that fateful birthday. It had just taken Alex a while to find her way home to blow out the candles.


End file.
